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Literature Text
your ghost and I have learnt to co-exist
and I find that you now reside in me, and I cannot
pull you out of these brittle bones
because sad is comfortable, and so is pain
and I lost my muse when we stopped talking.
I am a tangle of adolescent confusion, and I know it-
forever lost in the what-to-dos, and i think
i just needed a little bit of sunshine;
a kick in the ass to jumpstart my breathing
while I busied myself with getting lost in you
walking in your mountains and pausing by your seas,
I learnt a lot more about people than school ever taught me,
but it seems I've put none of it to use
because your ghost and I have learnt to co-exist,
your shadow graces my side-
the memories flit past my fingers but my soul is exhausted.
I'm tired, and I am sorry,
perhaps the god I do not trust will fix us-
oh, neither artist nor poet nor heaven-sent saint,
all I have to offer you is nothing.
your ghost walks a step behind me, I feel your heavy tread
I look for you in everyone I meet; I doubt you do the same
and it worries me how often I think about dying.
Literature
Insomnia
She felt as though
4am was a kind of peace
The harsh light of day barely prickling
At a horizon not yet ready to give up the dark
And a soul can rest
Bathed in the blue light
Of a monitor upon which
The heart could spill, showing forth to apathetic eyes
Sleep eludes her at these times
Giving away nothing
Eyes frantically wide
In a futile effort to convince herself it’s all for something
Literature
Illumination
There are secrets
in the darkness
to find them
is to meet your end
These secrets have
invoked terror
in our forefathers
who looked to hide
The darkness spreads
and grows every day
we cannot sadly
wish it away
We must face this
terror with stalwart hearts
and illuminate the darkness
with a spark
We need this spark
this light of all
to show the darkness
that we will not fall
this is the spark of knowledge
to be guarded with care
against the plight of darkness
of ignorance and hate
When darkness surrounds all
It can be hard to see
that we are not all different
but alike in a way
that we carry this spark
every day.
Literature
The Taste Of Sadness
What would sadness taste like?
Like the tears of a lost friend?
Like ashes as everything burns?
Like the last kiss before you left?
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'I look for you in everyone I meet; I doubt you do the same' was perhaps the single most beautiful line of poetry I have come across in a long time.